Star Trek: Sabotage
by GoAskAlice137
Summary: Seven years ago, Mila Harker survived the unimaginable. Now a member of Starfleet, she has been assigned to the newly refurbished USS Enterprise. When the ship's five-year mission is sabotaged, Harker finds herself a patsy for the real culprit. Thankfully, she has a Vulcan to help her clear her name, save the crew, and stop a war. (Slow-burn Spock/OC)
1. Chapter 1

**This story takes place directly after the main events of** _ **Star Trek: Into Darkness**_ **, beginning before the USS Enterprise disembarks on her five-year mission.**

 **Please note that, for the purposes of this story, Spock and Uhura are not, nor have they ever been, a romantic couple. Other than that, the stories of the first two movies remain unchanged.**

 **This is a slow-burn, Spock/OC story.**

 ***This story is** **Rated T** **. However, later chapters may be** **Rated M** **or** **Rated MA** **. Chapters with an alternate rating will be clearly marked.**

* * *

 **STAR TREK: SABOTAGE**

"Sail Forth- Steer for the deep waters only. Reckless O' soul, exploring. I with thee, and thou with me. For we are bound where mariner has not yet dared go. And we will risk the ship, ourselves, and all." –Walt Whitman

 **PROLOGUE**

"Day one-thousand and ninety-eight," Mila Harker droned into the camera. Her bedraggled image stared solemnly back at her from the dusty monitor, and for a moment, she could not help but dwell on how her blue eyes peered dismally out from her sunken cheeks and dark, oily hair. "The stardate is somewhere around 2253," she sighed, exhaustion seeping deep into her bones at the thought, "I'm not really sure anymore."

Outside, heavy rain began pelting down on the wrecked shell of the escape pod, the sound echoing loudly through the innards of the small transport. She grimaced as a chill wind gusted in through the tarp that hung limply over the jammed bay-doors. Shivering, she pulled her thick, leather coat closer to her thin frame.

"It's been two-hundred and forty-four days since Jacobson died," her voice caught in her throat, and she coughed, blinking back the water in her eyes, "I'm the last one." She paused, dropping her head, "I'm the only one still alive."

Again, Harker was quiet, her eyes focused unseeingly on the muddy floor. "The days are getting shorter. The suns don't seem to be rising as high," she continued, swallowing down her despair as she looked back to the recording, "I've been lucky so far. The weather has been temperate. But, I'm not sure that that's going to last much longer. It's getting colder by the day. After three years, it appears this godforsaken planet is entering the winter leg of its orbit."

She glanced uncertainly at the swaying tarp. "There are a few positive things to report," she began somberly, shifting on her seat, "I managed to fix the water filtration system, which was surprising, because I couldn't read the damn instructions. By the way, whoever decided to write the operations manual in Vulcan, you SUCK." She made sure to put extra emphasis on the last syllable, before continuing, "And, the Klingons haven't returned to the surface. The last sighting was effectively ninety-two days ago."

There was a loud _crack_ overhead, followed by a blinding light that engulfed the ship for a split second. Harker's head snapped up, thunder roaring so loudly that the console shook. "The storms are getting worse, too," she observed, "Maybe that's why they've stayed away for so long."

She rubbed her hands together, blowing hot breath into her palms as she continued to glance around the ceiling, "Emergency systems are still operational. And, the Search and Rescue Transponder still appears to be functional."

She dropped her gaze back to the camera lens, focusing on the single red, glaring light staring back at her, and a wave of panic suddenly boiled up inside her. She took a deep breath through her nostrils, struggling to reign her emotions back and continue.

"I'm having anxiety attacks," she stifled, "No doubt, a symptom of continued isolation."

A dry, subjugated chuckle abruptly forced itself from deep within her throat. She rubbed her eyes and sighed. "Who the hell am I kidding?" she muttered to herself, "No one's coming. I don't even know why I'm still doing this."

She leaned forward, shaking her head incredulously as she hit the off switch.

* * *

The twin, red suns rose over the heavy canopy the next morning, and Harker was relieved to find that the sky had finally cleared after the night's storms.

She rubbed her eyes groggily as she pulled back the tarp. The red glow of the planet was particularly heavy this morning, settling into the fog as it crept over the scarlet earth. Stepping out into the damp dawn air with a huff, her boots immediately sank into the mud, and she cursed, grumbling irritably as she slogged her way over to the rain barrel. It was full, she noted. At least, the miserable weather had been good for something.

She continued through the deserted camp, forcing herself not to look at the graves as she trudged passed them. Two rows of wooden crosses. Fourteen in total. And, she had buried every last one of them.

She had buried her mother and two sisters within a day of the crash. Her father and younger brother within six months after that. The others had all been a blur to her.

In total, there were five men, six women, and three children buried in their little cemetery. And out of them, as far as she was concerned, only Isaac Jacobson had ever really belonged in space.

Jacobson had been the reason that they had lasted as long as they had. Their doomed ship's Chief Engineer, he had been a retired Starfleet Lieutenant. He had created their shelter, and had gotten their emergency systems up and running. He taught them how to collect rain water to drink, how to ration their supplies, and how to forage and snare food. And, in the end, when it had just been she and him, he had protected her with his life.

His grave was the freshest, and it had been the hardest to dig. The red, clay-heavy soil still bulged up from the forest floor, and every time she looked at it, she was forced to come to terms with the fact that she was alone.

That there would be no one to dig her grave.

It was almost laughable to her now, how so many of the people onboard the U.M.S. _Sagan_ had believed that they were ready to take on the final frontier. How her parents had truly thought that Jesus was the answer to all human/alien tensions. The sheer arrogance of it all was infuriating, and Harker was still bitter about how they had dragged her, a sixteen-year-old, along on their ridiculous crusade. Her and her three younger siblings. They were dead and buried, and she was still hopelessly livid with them.

The _Sagan_ had carried over two-hundred missionaries and their families passed the edge of Federation space, and where were they now? Of the hundreds onboard, she knew of only fifteen that had survived the initial Klingon attack. Of those fifteen, six died when their escape pod had crashed on this inhospitable, uncharted rock. The others had all died, one by one, as they were hunted down by Klingons. The monsters seemed hell bent on killing every last survivor, like it had become a sort of sport for them. And, she was the last one standing.

She was nineteen now. Or was she twenty? Time was becoming harder and harder to keep track of. Counting days did not seem to mean anything anymore.

All that mattered now was 'one more'. One more day. One more night. Repeat.

She rounded the back of the transport, opening the rear hatch and pulling out the small, solar powered stereo she kept stored there.

The quiet was getting to her. There were no birds on this planet. No insects chirping in the trees. There was nothing but the sound of the howling wind as it tore its way through the forest, and Harker was starting to think that it was the silence that would inevitably send her over the edge of sanity.

She set the stereo on the trunk of a large tree, jamming her thumb down on 'play'. The Beastie Boys suddenly erupted from the speakers, screaming through the woods, " _I can't stand it! I know you planned it! I'mma set it straight, this Watergate! I can't stand rocking when I'm in here! 'Cause your crystal ball ain't so crystal clear!"_

Harker stripped off her heavy coat, tossing it down to the raging speakers. She shivered again as the cold air touched her bare arms, but she ignored it, stretching them above her head as she strode towards her homemade sparing target.

" _While you sit back and wonder why, I got this fucking thorn in my side! Oh my god! It's a mirage! I'm tellin' y'all! It's sabotage!"_

Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she reached behind her, clasping onto the leather grips of the curved, baakonite blades holstered snuggly against the small of her back. Effortlessly unsheathing them with a soft _snikt_ , she stalked towards the large barrel and its tree bark armor.

Jacobson had fashioned the twin karambits for her, crafting them from of the outer blades of a Klingon's bat'leth. She had dragged the alien sword back to camp after killing its owner, though she fully admitted that saying that _she_ had killed its owner was a misrepresentation of what had happened. Yes, she had been the reason for the Klingon's death, but she had not plunged the blade into his chest. The clumsy thing had done that all on its own, stumbling over its enormous feet.

Harker had only two advantages over this place. She was small. And, she was fast. Very fast.

Originally, she had tried to learn to use the bat'leth itself, but had quickly discovered it to be too heavy, and too large, to be a practical weapon. It had been nearly as long as she was tall, and after only a few minutes of caring it, her arms had ached from the strain. Jacobson had then taken it, cutting the sword down into two sets of knives. He had spent days grinding away at the hardened metal with his tools, until they had fit each if their hands perfectly.

" _So-so-so, listen up 'cause you can't say nothin'! I'd shut you out with a push of my button! But I'm out and I'm gone! I'll tell you, I keep it on!"_

She spun the blades in her hands smoothly as she bobbed along with the angry beat, before swiftly swinging them forward with skilled precision. The hooked knives sliced through the bark with ease. She brought them across the barrel again, and again. She spun, and she struck, and she kicked, until her muscles burned and sweat beaded along her hairline.

That was thanks to Jacobson, too.

Besides being a former Starfleet Lieutenant and engineer, he had also been an accomplished martial artist. It had been his true passion in life. He had been practiced in everything from judo, to karate, to taekwondo, and had even been familiar with the Vulcan martial arts of Suus Mahna and Sha'mura. And, over the past few years, he had taught her everything he knew.

Every day, for hours on end, he had drilled them into her, emphasizing the disciplines and philosophies behind the movements. That was how she would survive, he had told her. That was how she would live.

" _'Cause what you see you might not get! And we can bet so don't you get souped yet! You're scheming on a thing that's a mirage! I'm trying to tell you now! It's sabotage! Whaaaa!"_

The ground under her feet began to quake.

Harker slipped, falling ungracefully into the mud and landing roughly on her back. Glancing up at the sky with her pulse pounding, the earth continued to vibrate violently under her, and a dull roar rose steadily in her ears. Within seconds, the sound was unbearably, excruciatingly, loud, and she was forced to drop her knives. Slamming her hands onto either side of her head, she screeched in pain, the vibrations building with the reverberations until she thought she was going to be shaken apart.

The Klingon Warbird ripped passed, the massive ship tearing over the tree tops with extraordinary speed. Gone as quickly as it had appeared, the ground stilled, and the roar vanished. Harker gaped after it with her palms still clenched to her ears, and her heart fluttering frantically in her throat.

"Oh, God…" she gasped mutely, a chill shooting up her spine as she hurriedly grabbed the blades and sprang to her feet.

She snatched her coat, slamming her palm down onto the stereo's 'off' button as she threw it around her shoulders. And, she ran, disappearing into the trees as fast as her legs could take her.

* * *

She stayed hidden for the next three days.

Cautiously, Harker crawled on her hands and knees through the mouth of the small cave, her fingers and toes numb from the thick layer of icy mud under her, but she pushed her discomfort aside. The cavern was concealed on a tall, rocky slope, with its only opening covered by the split roots of an ancient tree. While, inside, it was just large enough to lay down alongside a small store of food and water.

The hiding spot had served her well, even if it did feel like she was creeping out of a tomb.

She stood unsteadily, slowly climbing down to the bottom of the incline with her calf muscles stinging from the effort. The Klingons never stayed for long when they came, and three days was the longest she had ever stayed away from the camp. She prayed silently that it had been long enough as she began the long trek back to the escape pod and the hopeful, blinking light of the Search and Rescue Transponder.

Admittedly, Harker new very little about Klingons. She understood that they were a warrior race. That they hated the Federation. And, over the past three years, she had even managed to pick up some of the language. But, why they insisted on coming back to this empty planet every few months to terrorize her was a mystery.

It took her a better part of the day to reach the campsite, hiking through dense foliage and thick, sticky mud. She was exhausted, having been too afraid to sleep, even within the relative safety of her hiding hole. Her stomach growled, and her head spun with thirst, having run out of supplies a day ago, but also having been too skittish to risk exposing herself for something as trivial as a drink of water. However, when the suns had risen that morning, her parched tongue and burning stomach had finally won out, and she had decided to stumble out of her cave and back to the encampment.

She stepped through the ferns at the clearing's threshold, and her heart immediately plummeted into her gut.

The rain barrel was on its side. She sprinted towards it, fresh dread pounding through her veins as she skittered to a stop, sliding over the slick, wet clay. She dropped to her knees at its gaping mouth, crestfallen.

It was gone. All of her stores of fresh water had been poured uselessly into the dirt.

"No…" she uttered in disbelief, looking around her frantically, "No. No! NO!"

Massive Klingon boot-prints marked the uneven ground, three times the size of hers. She ran her fingers up her temples and clenched her hands into her tangled hair, leaping to her feet and spinning in panic. Everything was in shambles. The shelters had been torn apart. Chunks of wood, plastic, and metal littered the site, with what little supply of freeze-dried food she had left thrown carelessly in all directions, spotting the mud with specks of silver.

A sharp chill erected itself along her spine, and she paled as horrified realization dawned in her eyes. "Oh, no…" Harker darted to the transport, throwing open the tarp and lunging inside, "NO! NO! NO!"

She screamed wordlessly in utter anguish, clasping her hands around the shattered remains of the emergency transponder and hauling it to her chest. The blinking light was dead. The signal was dead.

Staggering back out into the cold afternoon, breathless and terrified beyond words, tears began to fall freely down her face. This was it. No one would ever find her now. She would die here. She would rot here. And, no one would ever know.

The image of her limp body exposed to the elements, decomposing and putrid, flashed into her mind, and her stomach churned. Her flesh would liquefy, until only her bones remained. A naked skeleton, laid out indigently in the little cemetery. Fifteen bodies, with only fourteen crosses.

Her legs failed her and she crumpled to her knees, staring in dismay at the graveyard. The crosses were broken. The Klingons had left them in splinters. All symbols of the offending god, destroyed.

"No…" her voice was small.

A massive shadow slid over her.

She could hear it panting behind her, the sound almost like a growl. Like a wild animal that had cornered its prey.

Her fear dwindled, rapidly transmuting itself into wrath. Slowly, she reached up under her coat and grasped tightly onto her knives. Her hands were steady and sure, declaring with a hiss, " _SoHvaD vItlhap ghe''or HItlhej_!"

It roared.

Harker dove to her right as the creature brought its bat'leth down. The sword missed her by inches, its point digging down deep into the mud and sticking. The Klingon grunted, vexed, as she sprung back onto her feet with the karambits poised and at the ready.

It whirled around, reaching out for her with its immense, taloned fingers, and she parried. Jumping up and bring the hook of her right blade down into the crook of its elbow, she yanked its arm downward, slashing upward with her left. Crying out in unbridled fury, she felt the razor edge slice easily across the alien's eye and boney crest, sending maroon blood spurting across her face and chest.

The Klingon howled, jerking away as Harker dropped back down. She summersaulted forward, digging the curved point of her right blade into the back of its knee. It screeched, the sound unnatural as she tore the knife out. And, the giant toppled over, striking out wildly with its fist as it fell.

It felt like she had been struck in the chest by a battering ram.

Harker felt her ribs crack as she flew off of her feet, tumbling end over end into the dirt. The air was torn from her lungs as she landed awkwardly onto her back. Coughing, she gasped desperately as she tried to right herself, but the world around her began to spin and faded at the edges.

She could hear the monster dragging its injured leg as it stalked its way towards her, having reclaimed its bat'leth. She could her the rage in its breath.

Harker stared up at the Klingon defiantly as it stood over her, her heart pounding anxiously in her ears. She was in awe of its sheer size. It stood over seven feet tall. Solidly built, it was clothed in bulking armor, and must have weighed over three-hundred pounds. Its skin was midnight black. Its eyes just empty pits. Its bloody crest pierced with half a dozen glinting, bronze rings.

" _Ha'DIbaH!_ " it thundered, bringing the heel of its wounded leg into her stomach.

She doubled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her core reflexively. She tasted blood on the back of her tongue as she collapsed back into the mud, still glaring up at the alien as it prepared for the killing blow, raising the bat'leth high above its head.

" _Ha'!_ " she bellowed at it boldly, blood spilling from her mouth, " _qem 'oH!_ "

Suddenly, there was a blast of reddish-white light, and then the Klingon was lying on the ground.

Harker froze, her voice caught in her throat as she stared at the giant's unmoving form, her brain racing to process what had just happened.

Sluggishly, she rolled onto her stomach, warily inching her way towards the Klingon. She pushed two of her fingers into the side of its boot, fully expecting for it to kick back. But, the leg simply wobbled lifelessly back into place.

"Over here!"

Harker flinched. She whirled her head around, and the world began to spin again. She collapsed, laying her temple on the earth as the trees rapidly came in and out of focus.

There were legs moving towards her. Strong legs. A man's legs. Wearing black slacks. She furrowed her brow as they got closer, unable to decide whether or not they were real. And then, he touched her. His hands gently grabbed onto her shoulders, carefully turning her onto her back as he gazed down at her.

All she could see in that moment were his kind, blue eyes, wide with alarm. "You'll be okay," he hurriedly assured her, "You're going to be alright. Just hold on."

"Captain Pike?" she heard someone calling in the distance.

"Here!" Pike called back urgently, "Over here!"

Her eyes slid down to his golden shirt, locking intently on the Starfleet emblem shinning on his chest. Hot tears began streaming down her cheeks, leaving streaks in the layer of filth caked on her pale skin.

He gingerly wiped them away with his fingertips, brushing his thumb along her cheekbones soothingly, "It's alright. It's going to be alright. We're going to take you home."

She choked, and with every ounce of strength she had left, Harker threw her arms around his neck. Sobbing hysterically into his shoulder, she smeared his pristine uniform with clay and blood, but he did not push her away.

Pike held her just as tight, his heart pounding against hers as he laced his fingers into her hair, whispering, "We're going home."

* * *

 **Please review!**

* * *

 ***Klingon translation:**

 **1.** _ **SoHvaD vItlhap ghe''or HItlhej**_ **! = I'll take you to Hell with me!**

 **2.** _ **Ha'DIbaH!**_ **= Animal!**

 **3.** _ **Ha'! qem 'oH!**_ **= Come on! Bring it on!**


	2. Chapter 2

**STAR TREK: SABOTAGE  
**

 **CHAPTER ONE**

Fourteen crosses.

Harker ran her fingers down the tattoo on her inner forearm as she waited; fourteen simple, black crosses, split into two rows of seven.

Folded up in an uncomfortably contemporary armchair in the lobby outside of Admiral Archer's office, she had her knees pulled up to her chest, with her arms wrapped snuggly around her stomach. She had always hated this room. It was too bright. To modern. Too gaunt and pointed. It gave her a headache to look at, and more importantly, it was a pain to sit in. All fashion, and no comfort.

An overly cheery blonde sat behind a large, silver desk, guarding the entrance. She was hurriedly typing away at her keyboard, the _click-click-click_ of her polished fingernails ringing in Harker's ears. She glared at the woman, annoyed by the irritating sound.

The admin's toothy grin was outline in bright scarlet lipstick. Too bright for Harker's taste. Mod had come back in style, much to her chagrin, which meant big hair, short skirts, and bold makeup. Starfleet had a strict uniform code, but that did not stop many of the women in their ranks from tarting themselves up with cosmetics. And, the female uniforms' hemline did little to lend itself to functional service.

The only makeup Harker wore was a single line of thick, black eyeliner along her lashes. And, she considered that to be more than enough. Besides, her Aunt Laura was always telling her that she did not need makeup. According to her, Harker had been blessed with a beautiful complexion. Covering that up with a layer of greasy paint was far from necessary. Her hair, however, was another matter.

It seemed like Harker's hair was always a mess. No matter what she tried, it always ended up hanging in her face. She brushed a wavy strand of auburn behind her ear at the thought. She had tied it back into a ponytail that morning, and already there was a handful of stray tresses surrounding her face and neck. Apparently, she had never inherited that gene that every other woman seems to have built into their DNA, which allowed them to elaborately style their hair.

Two smartly dressed officers suddenly strutted passed, glaring down their noses at her in disapproval as they exited the Admiral's office.

Harker immediately straightened in her seat, tugging the sleeve of her leather jacket down to cover her tattoo as she placed the heels of her boots securely on the floor. Smoothing her uniform, she pulled at the hem of her red skirt modestly and brushed a speck of dirt off her black leggings. She corrected her posture, before fastening her hands together in her lap and swallowing anxiously.

"Ensign Harker?" the admin chimed musically from her desk, "Admiral Archer will see you now."

Harker stood, butterflies fluttering around her stomach as she walked stiffly to the office door and knocked gently, before entering.

Admiral Archer was bent over his desk at the far end of the long room, scribbling away furiously on the massive stack of documents to his right. She stepped inside, silently closing the door behind her, before clearing her throat. The Admiral's head snapped up, and Harker immediately snapped to attention, with her arms and back almost painfully ridged.

"Admiral," she greeted him, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

Archer laughed, quickly standing and crossing the floor to envelop her in a hug. "Christ, Kiddo," he chortled with a handsome smile, "Don't look so damn serious."

Harker relaxed, chuckling uncertainly, "Yeah. This is weird, right?"

He held her at arm's length, his hands warm on her shoulders as his eyes swept over her uniform. His expression softened, tinged with pride. "No," he stated adamantly, "Not at all." He let go of her, ushering her into the room and offering her a chair, "Come on in, Kid. Take a seat."

Harker flopped down into the chair, watching as he mirrored her behind his desk. "What do I even call you now, anyway?" she wondered, "Uncle-Admiral Archer? Admiral-Uncle Henry?"

"Let's just stick with 'Uncle Henry'," he clarified, resting his elbows on the desktop and leaning forward. His blue eyes shined brilliantly as he did another once over, "Jesus, you look just like your mother in that uniform."

Harker felt tears begin to sting at the corner of her eyes. She swallowed thickly, her voice strained and quiet, "Thank you."

He fell silent, his warm smile faltering slightly. "God, I miss her," he shifted restlessly in his seat, sighing woefully, "You know, I begged her not to go. I begged her not to take you kids. But your mother was certain that she was doing the right thin; quitting Starfleet and heading out there with all those people. She really thought that they could make a difference. That they could make peace with the Klingons. Bring our worlds together." He shook his head, "Hell, she was so stubborn. No one could talk her out of it. Not me. Not Grandpa John. No one."

She did not say anything. Just dropped her eyes to the carpet, her cheeks suddenly burning.

"She'd be proud of you, though," Archer assured her, "You need to know that. She'd be damn proud of you."

"I know," Harker replied evenly, meeting his eyes. She cleared her throat again, biting at the inside of her lip. "So, ah…" she struggled, "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Archer's expression abruptly darkened, his mouth suddenly pressed into a stern line. "Your request for assignment came through my office this morning," he informed her, "The _Enterprise_ , Mila?"

Harker had to suppress a groan.

She had put in her request to be assigned the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ , for the duration of her upcoming mission, the day after her graduation from the Starfleet Academy. And, she had done it quietly, not mentioning her intentions to a single soul. But she had known this would be coming. She had known that eventually it would come across her uncle's desk, and that it would be soon. After all, the _Enterprise_ was set to launch within the next few weeks.

"Yeah," she breathed, bracing herself for what she knew was coming.

"Five-years!" her uncle exclaimed, clearly concerned, "Five. Years. After what you went through, why on earth would you put yourself through _five years_ in space?"

"Can you think of someone who's more suited for the mission?" she asked calmly.

Archer narrowed his eyes, "What?"

"Starfleet is sending a crew of over four-hundred out into the unknown," she defended stoically, "But, I've already been to the unknown, Sir. I adapted. I _survived._ Is there anyone else that you would rather send out on a mission like this one?"

"Just tell me, Mila. Why?" he countered, leaning forward and scowling as he tapped his palm agitatedly on the desk, "Why do you want this? And, I don't mean why you think you should go. No. Why do _you_ want _this_?"

Harker inhaled deeply, staring across at her uncle with wide, knowing eyes, "It was Pike's ship."

Archer leaned back in his chair, sighing loudly in sympathy, "Mila… Pike is gone."

"I know that," she replied a little too sharply, "I went to the memorial last week."

Her uncle's eyebrows practically rose into his hairline, "You did?"

"Of course, I did," she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest, "Pike saved my life. He came for me when no one else did." Her voice cracked, "He didn't deserve what happened to him."

"No," Archer agreed solemnly, "He didn't. But the _Enterprise_ isn't Pike's ship anymore. If you're doing this to be closer to—"

"Pike picked Kirk as his successor," she interrupted quickly.

The creases of her uncle's face deepened in exasperation.

Pike had selected Kirk to take his place aboard the Enterprise, but there was much more to it than that. Harker had heard the captain speak at the memorial, and his words had resonated with her.

" _There will always be those who mean to do us harm,_ " he had said at the podium, looking out over the crowd fearlessly, " _To stop them, we risk awakening the same evil within ourselves. Our first instinct is to seek revenge when those we love are taken from us. But that's not who we are..._ "

She knew that evil. She had fought it for a decade, suppressing a blistering rage just beneath her surface. She had hidden it well, concealing it from everyone. But it was still there, throbbing just under her skin.

" _But that's not who we are…_ "

She wanted nothing more but to put the past behind her. To forget everything that had happened years ago on that red planet. To let the wrath within her drift away into the universe, and finally be able to truly move on with her life.

She wanted to let go of it all, but she just did not know how.

"If I'm going to serve on a starship," Harker began pointedly, "I'm going to do so under a captain that Christopher Pike deemed worthy of taking his command."

Archer stared at her in silence, but she stared right back, meeting his challenging gaze resolutely.

"There's nothing I can do to talk you out of this?" he grumbled, thwarted, "Is there?"

"Not in the slightest."

He sighed again, the sound rumbling deep within his chest, and then he suddenly stood. She hurried to her feet.

"Well then, Ensign Harker," he began graciously, offering her his hand, "I wish you luck on your mission."

Harker carefully wrapped her fingers around his, dumbstruck that he had bent to her. "Thank you, Sir," she uttered, shaking his hand firmly, "That means a lot to me."

"You're an Archer, through and through," he told her, his smile returning, but not quite meeting his eyes, "If not in name, then in blood. Don't you ever forget that, Kid."

She smirked back at him, "Stubbornness must run in the family."

Chuckling lightly as he sank back into his chair, he rubbed thoughtfully at his chin, his eyes sparkling mischievously, "You have no idea."

She remained standing, waiting to be dismissed, but he was not ready to let her go just yet.

"You know," he began, his tone filled with cunning intent, "as an engineer, you'll be working under Lieutenant Commander Scott."

She snorted, unable to stop herself, "Isn't that the guy who tried to beam Grandpa John's dog during warp?"

Archer nodded, grinning.

She placed her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes, "I thought you said you weren't going to try and talk me out of it?"

He shrugged, "I had to try."

Harker rolled her eyes and, no longer caring about being dismissed, turned to leave, "You know, I always hated that dog."

Shaking his head incredulously as he watched her stomp towards the door, Archer called her back, "Ensign Harker!"

She stopped, begrudgingly turning back around and glaring at him.

"That jacket isn't regulation," he informed her.

Harker scowled, fully aware that he was toying with her now. She huffed, hastily stripping off the leather number and tossing it on the floor between them, before sticking out her tongue childishly.

She stormed out the door, leaving Admiral Henry Archer in a fit of laughter.

* * *

Harker stepped into the waiting elevator with an aggravated puff, tugging down at her short sleeves and crossing her arms over her chest as the doors slid shut.

Her frustration aside, that had gone much better than she had expected.

Over the past seven years, people had tended to treat her like she was a fragile, little doll. They seemed incapable of seeing her as anything other than the only surviving victim of the Sagan Massacre, as the Klingon attack had come to be called. They were all convinced that she must be treated delicately, or else her brittle mind could break. But Harker was anything but fragile. Body and mind, she knew she was one of the most resilient officers in the fleet. Three years on the red planet had seen to that.

She pressed the first-floor button, slouching with her back against the wall as the elevator began to descend.

It was infuriating, she had to admit. People treated her like she was somehow less, now. Broken. And, maybe in a way, she was. But her life had not ended on that forsaken rock. If anything, she had come alive under those twin suns. And, since then, she had just been coasting along, waiting to feel that burst of life again.

The elevator slowed. Harker's eyes sprung up to the floor indicator, where the white glow suddenly stopped on the eleven. She immediately straightened up, folding her hands in the small of her back formally as the doors dinged softly, and slid open.

Her stomach did a summersault and her breath hitched behind her tongue as her eyes glided over the dark-blue, academy staff uniform in front of her.

"Commander," she greeted the man by his rank, nodding her head curtly as she stepped aside, making room for him to enter.

He towered over her as he stepped in, swiftly turning to face the doors. She could not help but glance up at his face, her cheeks burning self-consciously as she noticed his angular brows and pointed ears.

A Vulcan.

He was easily over six feet tall, leanly built, but clearly well-muscled under his uniform. She had half expected to see a green flush to his skin, but his complexion had a pale Caucasian tone, not much different from hers. His brown eyes looked human, too. Though, the color did look slightly richer. His black hair was cut in what she supposed was the customary Vulcan bob, and she noticed that his eyebrows were slightly fuller than the pictures of Vulcans she had seen in her text books.

Harker had never seen a Vulcan in person before, and she tried not to stare. There had never been many of his species on Earth. And, after the destruction of Vulcan by the war criminal Nero, there were even fewer.

She felt a surge of sympathy towards the man, unable to imagine what it must be like to be a member of an endangered species.

He nodded back, looking down at her impersonally as he returned her greeting, "Ensign."

"What floor, Sir?" she asked, quickly looking towards the buttons on the panel.

"The first," he replied neutrally, "Thank you."

Harker pressed the 'close doors' button, "Yes, Sir."

The elevator continued its decent, and Harker began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. She did not care for small spaces. And, she especially did not like sharing those spaces with strange people. Particularly, she did not like sharing those spaces with strange men. She felt an aching tension building between her shoulder blades, and she held in a sigh as she nervously brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Tattoos below the elbow are strictly against regulations, Ensign…?"

She looked up at him in surprise, pulling her arm away from her face and staring blankly at the crosses printed down her forearm. "Uh," she answered the superior officer hesitantly, "Harker, Sir." She quickly refolded her arms behind her back, "I'll try to remember to keep it covered."

"Very well," He nodded stiffly, "However, removal would be more practical."

The presumptuousness of the statement sent a sudden pang of anger shooting up her spine, and she clenched her fists tightly as she bit down on the tip of her tongue.

The elevator slowed, and then stopped, the doors dinging again as they opened. Harker hurriedly exited the lift, but before her brain could catch up to her mouth's intentions, she had spun around on her heels.

"Respectfully, Sir," she hissed, "No."

The word left her lips with a finality that surprised even her as she set off for the front exit, grumbling "dick" under her breath, and leaving the Commander staring after her with his pointed brows quirked in bewilderment.

* * *

 **Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**STAR TREK: SABOTAGE  
**

 **CHAPTER TWO**

It was the perfect day for a launch. The skies were clear. The air was still. And, Mila Harker felt like she was going to throw up.

She sat on the edge of her mattress, staring solemnly out the window at the sun as it broke the horizon, painting the morning vista with rich hues of purple, red, and gold. It was profoundly beautiful, yet her heart ached looking at it, just knowing that this would be the last time she would see the sun rise.

Her alarm clock began blaring loudly. Harker took a deep breath, the annoying sound buzzing in her ears as she lethargically tore her attentions away from the dawn to glare at the glowing green numbers on the nightstand. Slowly, she reached over and switched it off, running her palm over her face and groaning anxiously.

Harker kept thinking back to when she had been sixteen. At the time, she had been so furious with her parents for forcing her to leave her life on Earth, but there had been a small part of her that had secretly wished their journey into space would be like something out of _The Wizard of Oz_. Like she would be stepping out of her boring, day-to-day, sepia world, and into a brilliant, Technicolor realm. Nevertheless, she had only ever found a cold, monochrome wasteland.

She stood stiffly, walking into the washroom and softly shutting the door behind her. She turned on the shower, stripping off her nightshirt and underwear as the room quickly began to fill with steam. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she tentatively touched the crescent shaped, shrapnel scar under her left breast; a permanent reminder of the day that Isaac Jacobson had traded his life, for hers.

She noticed her hands were shaking and frowned, flexing her fingers restlessly as she stepped under the stream of water.

She replayed hers and Uncle Henry's conversation over in her mind for what must have been the tenth time that morning, and she was ashamed to admit that she was beginning to doubt her decision. And, the reasonings she had given the admiral in his office last week no longer seemed sufficient enough.

Harker sighed aloud, lathering shampoo into the long strands of auburn hair that curled their way to the center of her back.

"Stop," she ordered herself, rinsing the suds off her body, and relishing the feel of the searing water and steam as it cascaded down her skin.

Space was cold. She remembered that very clearly. No matter what Harker had tried aboard the _Sagan_ , she had always felt cold. It was the kind of cold that congealed itself to your skin, seeping down into your bones and sticking there. But, she reminded herself as she shut off the water and stepped out onto the floor mat, that cold had been nothing compared to winter on the red planet. And, if she could survive that, then a little discomfort onboard a starship was nothing to fret about.

She wiped away the condensation on the mirror with the palm of her hand, before combing through her hair and grabbing the blow-dryer off the countertop. The scorching air burned at her scalp as the dryer roared dully in her ears.

Harker looked vastly different now than she had seven years ago. She was no longer so gaunt in her appearance, having put on twenty pounds of solid muscle. Good nutrition and the sun had returned her coloring to normal. And, her face was fuller, with her cheekbones and cleft chin not as pronounced.

She no longer looked like a walking skeleton.

It was odd, but there were times when she had to seriously concentrate on her reflection in order to recognize herself in the mirror.

She set the hairdryer down, brushing through her dark locks and pulling them up into a ponytail. Almost immediately, a handful of stray strands escaped their bonds and fell into her face, and she rolled her eyes as she impatiently brushed them aside. Today was not the day for her to be messing around with her hair, and she could not help growling a little as she picked up her eyeliner and began painting along the curve of her lashes.

Stepping out into the bedroom, she did not bother wrapping herself in a towel as she crossed to the closet to retrieve her virgin Starfleet uniform.

The room around her was sparse, empty, and impersonal; save for the tall stack of cardboard boxes piled in the corner. Harker had been staying in her Aunt and Uncle's spare bedroom for the last three days, having already surrendered the lease on her apartment. She had been planning on staying in the Starfleet barracks, but when her Aunt Laura had learned about her deployment, she had thrown a fit, insisting that Harker lodge with the family until launch day so they could spend what time she had left together.

Harker slid into her black slacks, a little dismayed by how the fabric clung to her legs. Starfleet's uniforms were inherently sexist. Whether it was skirts or slacks, the uniforms' fabric was hopelessly form fitting. Still, she admitted as she slipped her regulation undershirt over her head, it was a flattering cut. The black garment held itself to her chest and exaggerated her slim waistline, giving her the curvy look that she had always admired in other women, but lacked naturally.

Her gaze fell to the red uniform shirt spread out on the bed, and her heart began to flutter against her sternum. She bent down, tracing the silver Operations insignia with her fingertips, and a small smile touched her lips.

Suddenly, her nerves no longer seemed to matter.

Harker dearly missed Christopher Pike. Much more than she would ever let anyone see. Contrary to what most people assumed, Pike had been the reason she had joined Starfleet, not her family. After he had delivered her back home, Pike had kept in contact, tracking her recovery and providing needed encouragement. He had been a mentor, a friend, and even a father figure. He had pushed her when she had needed to be pushed, and he had held her up when she felt she could no longer stand on her own. And, when he had at last agreed that she was well enough, he had personally recruited her, guiding her to Starfleet Academy's engineering program, where he had monitored her progress carefully.

It broke her heart that he had not been at her graduation, and that he was not here now to see her off on her voyage. Not when they had come so far together.

She hoped he would be proud.

Tugging the red shirt down over her abdomen and straightening her sleeves, she turned to the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the bedroom door. Her eyes slowly slid up her visage, gleaming brightly as a sense of great satisfaction swelled in her chest. Her throat suddenly felt tight, and she swallowed thickly with happy tears burning in the corners of her eyes.

Yes. He would have been proud. Because, she was proud. She was proud of herself for having the courage to put on this uniform, and go back to the place that everyone told her she should be afraid of.

Now, Harker would just have to make it a little bit further on her own.

Her bag was nearly packed. The massive canvas duffle lay open on the bed, filled with a dozen different Starfleet uniforms, as well as various personal items that Harker could not bring herself to leave behind. A family portrait stared up at her from the zippered opening; the joyous faces of her mother, father, and siblings, blissfully unaware of their future fate. She quickly topped it with a large, framed photograph of her extended family. Her uncles, aunts, and cousins, all surrounding the family patriarch, Johnathan Archer.

The average human lifespan had increased drastically over the past two-hundred years, but anyone living over the age of one-hundred thirty-seven was considered irregular. Grandpa John, however, was just too damn stubborn to die. He was still sharp and living independently, while surrounded by his loving children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren.

Johnathon Archer. The captain of Starfleet's very first starship, NX-01. The first _Enterprise_. The man responsible for making first contact with over a dozen different civilizations across the galaxy, including the Klingons and the Andorians. The man who had paved the way for the founding of the United Federation of Planets, and was, without question, the greatest explorer of the 22nd century.

Sometimes, it was hard for her to believe that she had come from him.

She admired the photo for a moment, noting just how many Starfleet uniforms dotted the frame. She was the newest among them. The youngest. The smallest. And, all that was left of her branch of the family tree.

Harker grimaced at that thought, quickly turning back to the closet and pulling out her leather jacket. She tossed it nonchalantly onto the bed, only to hear a sudden, heavy _thump_ come from the floor next to her boot. She looked down, the color draining from her cheeks.

The handles of the twin baakonite blades glinted angrily up at her from their sheaths as she knelt, cautiously lifting the thick, leather belt they were attached to. She swallowed dryly, gripping one of the karambits firmly and inching it from its covering. The overhead light caught the razor edge, flashing dangerously as her breath caught in her throat and her pulse began throbbing loudly in her ears.

A cold sweat broke out along her spine.

There was a soft knock at the door. "Mila?" her Aunt Laura called gently from the other side, "The taxi is downstairs."

Harker jumped, inhaling sharply. She let the air fill her lungs completely before slowly blowing it back out, and guardedly sliding the knife back into its sheath.

"Thank you," she answered, her voice taut, "I'll be right down."

She listened to her aunt's footsteps descending the stairs, before turning back to the weapons in her hands. Examining the karambits meticulously, Harker turned and added them to her luggage, before hastily zipping up her bag. She slipped on her jacket, before swinging its hefty bulk up over her shoulder and opening the bedroom door. Traipsing out into the hallway, she headed down the stairwell with a heavy tread, but stopped short when she reached the bottom.

The entire family had gathered in the living room. Her many cousins had collected themselves around the entryway, with their Starfleet uniforms all pressed and spotless. They turned as she entered, their conversations immediately ceasing as she passed through. Admiral-Uncle Henry stood in the center of the room, his formal cover tucked under his arm and his dress-attire glistening in the overhead light. His three younger siblings stood next to him, all equally as impressive, while her aunts stood at their husbands' sides, smiling woefully at her as she approached.

Uncle Henry beamed down at her, quickly stepping aside and graciously indicating the drawing room door beyond, "Grandpa John wants a word with you, before you go."

She nodded somberly as she passed, stepping down into the sitting room with the oak and stained-glass door shutting softly behind her.

The room had been flooded by the warm, morning sun. The natural light glistened through the many windows, and bounced off the many display cases filled with hundreds of mementos from Admiral Archer's distinguished career.

The man himself sat in the easy chair on the far edge of the room, rocking gently as he scratched the ears of the beagle puppy in his lap. He looked up as she set her duffle bag next to her feet, standing awkwardly in the doorway. The little dog's head snapped to attention as he let out an excited bark, jumping down from his master's lap and sprinting towards her with his ears flopping. He began running around her feet, enthusiastically wagging his tail as he jumped up on her legs. Harker smiled at the adorable way his tongue hung out of the side of his mouth, and she quickly knelt down to pet him.

"Athos?" Grandpa John called to the pup, who at the sound of his name, scrambled back to his master. He flopped down on the carpet next to his foot with the tail thumping against the side of the chair, and his tongue still hanging out happily.

At one-hundred and forty-eight, Johnathon Archer did not look a day over seventy-five. There were rumors that he had stumble upon some sort of fountain of youth on his interstellar travels, though Harker had never really believed that. Even now, to look at him, you would never guess that he was nearly a century and a half old. His skin still had a healthy glow, blemished with only a few age spots on his hands, and his full head of silver hair still had a luscious shine. But his eyes were the most telling. Piercing and sage, they missed nothing.

"It's a little late to try and talk me out of it, now," Harker suddenly spoke up, shrugging her shoulders, "I'm just saying."

Grandpa John grinned, shrewd as ever, "Now why on Earth would I want to do that?"

"Everyone else has," she grumbled, "Why not you, too?"

He stood, supporting his weight on an old cane as he hobbled forward. "You know," he began seriously, "Your mother was my only granddaughter. I had all sons. Then all grandsons. Then, out of the blue, came Selene." He stopped in front of her, his lips upturned with nostalgia, "Even as a little girl, I saw the same wide-eyed hopefulness in her that I had had as a boy. She was so full of wonder. So full of life. She truly believed she could make the galaxy a better place."

Harker glanced down at her boots, "That didn't exactly work out so well in the end."

"No," he agreed, "But, even though it cost her life, I'm proud of her."

She narrowed her eyes as she looked back to him, baffled, but she remained silent.

"You know," he continued, his words heavy with sentiment, "We thought we had lost you. When we learned of the fate of the _Sagan_ , we were all sure you were gone. Starfleet thought I was crazy for sending Captain Pike out there to look for you. They told me that no one could have possibly survived that Klingon attack, let alone on an uncharted planet for three years. But, I wasn't going to give up on you."

Again, Harker was not sure what to say, so she held her tongue.

"And then," he breathed, "Pike found you. Just you. He brought you home to us. And, when we saw you…" He abruptly stopped, his Adam's apple bobbing uncomfortably as he reached for her hand, gently lifting up her sleeve to reveal the fourteen crosses on her forearm, "When I saw you… I have never seen such strength in my life."

His fingers slid down to her hand, gripping it tightly, "I am so proud of you, Mila. So very proud."

Harker's eyes remained fixated on her grandfather's aged hand. "Thank you," she whispered, slowly lifting her gaze to his face, "Sir."

He pulled her into a tight embrace, placing a desolate kiss on her forehead before grinning dolefully down at her, "Give'em Hell, kiddo."

* * *

The launch pad was packed with a dozen regulation troop-transports, awaiting takeoff.

Harker headed directly for Transport 3, clenching onto the canvas straps of her duffle to keep her hands from shaking as she wove her way through the chaotic crowd around her. There were over four-hundred crewman and officers waiting to board the crafts that would ferry them to the awaiting U.S.S. _Enterprise_ , and nearly all of them were surrounded by throngs of family and friends that had come to see them off on their five-year journey. But Harker had already said her goodbyes. She was determined to make every step of this voyage on her own, and she would do so without the help of the name 'Archer'.

She had made sure of that.

Her stomach did an anxious flip as she approached the transport's bay door, marching up the metal ramp as she adjusted the weight of the heavy bag on her back. A crewman in red was posted by the entrance, ticking off names on his PADD as others arrived.

"Ensign Harker," she informed him briskly as she passed, "Mila Grace."

The crewman nodded, not bothering to look up as he marked her down with a curt, "Welcome aboard, Ensign Harker."

The inside of the fuselage was far more confining than she had expected. Seats were coupled along the windows on both sides, similar to the layout of an airplane. However, the two center rows ran longwise through the cabin, tightly packed and facing outward.

Harker swiveled to the right, sidestepping her way to a pair of empty window seats midway down the line. She promptly wrenched her bag off of her shoulders with a relieved sigh, letting it clatter heavily to the floor as she looked up.

"Well, shit," she grumbled under her breath, suppressing an irritated groan as she eyed the overhead luggage rack, which was a good foot out of her reach.

Bending and grabbing the duffle's straps securely with both hands, she lifted the massive bag above her head, trying her best to angle it so it would slide into place as she planted her boot on the seat and lifted herself up.

"Here," a deep voice intervened as a large hand appearing next to hers, swiftly shoving the bag up into the bracket, "Let me get that for'ya."

Harker dropped back down with a breathless, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," the man replied with a slight southern twang, securing her bag into the rack before tossing his in next to it.

She sank down into the aisle-side seat, trying not to look at him too directly as he continued positioning his baggage above her head. He was just over six-foot tall and well-built, with a handsome face and a strong chin. He was clean shaven, though he already had a five-o'clock shadow, and his brown hair was only slightly askew as he fell into the seat beside her with a weary huff.

Harker could not help but note the silver rings on the sleeves of his blue uniform, proclaiming his rank as a Lieutenant Commander, and he caught her staring.

Grinning slyly as she quickly averted her gaze, he offered her his hand, "Dr. Leonard McCoy."

She felt her cheeks burning as she smiled coyly back, taking his hand delicately, "Ensign Mila Harker, Sir."

"Nah," he snorted, shaking his head as he dropped his hand back into his lap, "Don't 'sir' me, sweetheart. Call me Bones."

If anyone else had called her 'sweetheart', Harker might have snapped at them. Yet, somehow, the way Dr. McCoy had said the word made it sound more endearing than bigoted. The term seemed like such a natural part of his vocabulary that she just continued to smile politely back.

"Nervous?" McCoy observed, still watching her closely with a charming smirk.

She nodded uncertainly and shrugged with a half-joking, "I might throw up on you."

He let out a loud burst of laughter, pulling a small silver flask from his pocket and offering it to her, "The secret to surviving air travel."

"Ah, thanks…" Harker stammered, her cheeks growing brighter with the superior officer's unconventional offer, "But, I don't drink alcohol."

The doctor shrugged, taking a swig for himself before concealing it back in his uniform, "This your first time in space?"

"No," she answered bluntly as a wave of officers hurriedly scampered passed her in the aisle, "But, it's been a while."

"How long's a while?" he pondered, leaning back in his seat.

"Long enough," she uttered back quietly.

She heard the doors seal shut, the chatter around the transport rising to an excited crescendo. Harker watched as the crewmen with the PADD strutted down the aisle and disappeared into the cockpit, and she gripped the armrests so tightly that her knuckles lost all their color.

"Hang on," McCoy said dryly as the transport shook.

Within seconds, the craft had achieved vertical lift, and Harker was suddenly slammed back into her seat as it shot forward. She forced herself to exhale slowly, glancing out the window as the transport swooped out over the bay, the Golden Gate Bridge glistening in the background, and shrinking as they got higher and higher, until it was nothing but a red speck framed in blue.

The air outside was getting thinner. The fluffy white clouds dissolved into nothing as the sky tinted from a robin's egg blue, to a deep navy, and ice began crystalizing on the windows' edges

The ship abruptly lurched, quaking violently as they broke through the atmosphere, and then suddenly, there was quiet. Gliding smoothly out into the void, Harker unclenched, collapsing back into her seat and taking a deep breath.

"Not as bad as I remember," she uttered quietly to herself.

She heard Lieutenant Commander McCoy chuckling softly next to her, but she chose to ignore him. She closed her eyes, leaning her head back and sighing as she let the stillness of space sink in. But, it was not to last.

Within minutes, the cabin was buzzing again. It practically vibrated with the combined anticipation of its passengers, pitching to a climax, and Harker could no longer tune it out.

"Hey, Harker," McCoy nudged her with his elbow, "You're going to want'a see this."

She opened her eyes, momentarily blinded by a bright white glow shining through the window, and then she promptly lost her breath.

They were approaching Spacedock; a massive space station where Federation starships were loaded, unloaded, built, and repaired. It was essentially dry-dock in orbit, and it was incredible. The station consisted of an enormous spherical hub, surrounded by six massive ports where multiple classes of starships were docked and waiting. Harker could not help but lean forward in wonder, watching as they passed under the robust metal arms that held the dock together. And, that's when she saw it.

The first _Constitution_ -class vessel, the ship followed the traditional three part layout common to most Starfleet vessels, consisting of the main saucer section, the engineering section, and the dual warp nacelles. However, she dwarfed every starship that Harker had ever seen or read about. The uppermost section of the ship was composed of the primary hull, joined to the engineering hull by a stalwart neck, and terminating along the dorsal sides of the engineering body. The engineering section itself was capped by the main deflector to the fore, and the main shuttlebay to the aft. Her two warp nacelles were mounted to the port and starboard sides of the lower hull, each at an upward angle, and fore of her flight deck doors.

She was magnificent.

The transport glided over the gleaming surface of the saucer, and Harker's heart leaped into her throat. She had to fight the urge to jump from her seat and press her face to the glass as she silently mouthed the words below, "NCC-1701. U.S.S. _Enterprise_."


End file.
